


Not Ready

by saltybatman



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, IronStrange, M/M, Stephen Strange - Freeform, men having trouble with feelings, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltybatman/pseuds/saltybatman
Summary: [AU where Stephen Strange was the one who removed Tony Stark's Arc Reactor]"He told himself he was ready. He told himself matters of the heart were nothing compared to matters of the mind. He told himself this would be no problem."When Tony Stark first came to his office, Doctor Stephen Strange had no idea what he would leave behind in his wake. Years have passed, and threats greater than they have ever known are coming to Earth, but Stephen cannot get Tony Stark out of his head. He thought he was ready for whatever was thrown his way. He had no idea how wrong he was.





	Not Ready

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this wonderful post - http://tonystahnk.tumblr.com/post/173547924446/what-if-doctor-strange-was-a-cardiothoracic

 

Doctor Stephen Strange was not sure he was ready.

Sunlight filtered into his office in broken rays, disjointed by his blinds, half-lidded in the mid-afternoon haze that settled over the city. On one end of his office, he could hear the muted life of the city; on the other end, he could hear the bustling sounds of the hospital. The ticking of the clock on the wall joined the two spectrums. He glanced up at it, and back at the file in front of him, fingers drumming on his desk impatiently. The file glared up at him. In black, block letters stood the source of all of that day’s irritation and anxiety.

**TONY STARK.**

He sighed and read over the file again, though he had already read it to the point where the lines were blurring together, the words losing meaning and fading into white. Even without the file, everyone knew the story. Kidnapped in Afghanistan five years ago. Spat on Death’s face and came clawing from the dark, half-dead, but more determined to live than ever before. Defied expectations time and time again. Became Iron Man. Saved the world. Continued to alternate between falling in a cataclysmic downward-spiral, or managing to stay afloat in the cool grace that seemed exclusive to tortured geniuses. Stephen knew Tony Stark’s story, like the rest of the world. But, what fascinated him about the man also proved to be the most frustrating thing he ever encountered.

Stark had called it an Arc Reactor. Stephen had seen photographs of it in newspapers and magazines, but they did no justice to how brightly it gleamed, how much attention it demanded and stole away when it was in front of you. He had to focus very hard on keeping his eyes on Stark’s face, the day he first approached Stephen weeks ago.

They had been sitting in his office. Though the name on the door read “Doctor Stephen Strange,” when Stark was inside, Stephen felt like a guest in his own space. Perhaps it had been the way Stark sat in his chair, a contrast of sharp, clean angles on his jawline and suit and soft, relaxed facial features and body language. The Arc Reactor winked at Stephen as he sat on the opposite side of the desk, freed by a hole he assumed Stark cut into his shirt. Though, he would not have put it past Stark to have his own line of shirts with a circle cut into the chest.

Stark spoke first. Stephen listened. Normally, when a patient or co-worker suggested a surgery or procedure for Stephen to carry out, he only half-listened, waiting for a word or two that would be unique or interesting enough to catch his attention. Stark was different, though. Half-listening to his voice, melodic and firm, would have been impossible.

Still, Stephen could not believe what Stark wanted him to do.

“You understand I’m a neurosurgeon,” Stephen had said slowly.

“Oh, damn. Is that why it says ‘neurosurgeon’ on your door and your desk?” Stark said, frowning and glancing between Stephen and the door. “Must have missed that, doc.”

Stephen’s mouth twitched. “You may want to consult a heart surgeon instead, Mr. Stark.”

"No. If I did, I would have. But, I’m consulting you.” Stark leaned back in his seat, his ankle resting on his knee.

“I’m not sure I can help you,” Stephen said, thinking of his perfect track record of surgeries. It wouldn’t surprise him if Stark acted as the wrench thrown into his perfectly running machine. He’d only known him for five minutes, but it seemed in keeping.

Stark was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, his hand resting on the edge of his Arc Reactor. Watching him, Stephen noticed how exhausted the man looked. When his mouth wasn’t running, it was easier to see the dark bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the minute shaking of his hands when they touched his Arc Reactor. Stephen felt a pang in his chest. He had heard the news stories about the Mandarin, seen the news footage of Stark’s home being destroyed, read the articles declaring his girlfriend being kidnapped, and almost killed. Stephen glanced down at his hands a moment, feeling something almost resembling guilt.

“I don’t know if you can either, doc,” Stark said. His voice had lost its melodic quality. It sounded more exhausted than anything else. “I don’t know if anyone can. You’re my Hail Mary, alright? I read up on you, heard you were the best of the best, so—”

His voice trailed off. He did not meet Stephen’s gaze, looking instead at his Arc Reactor. Stephen allowed his own eyes to fall on the intoxicating gleam of the machinery. Perhaps, he could not understand why Stark was asking for the procedure. In his chest rested one of the greatest scientific achievements of the decade, not only in energy production, but in the ability to defy Death itself. Stark had been spitting and laughing in the face of Death for five years. Stephen wondered if that got exhausting. If seeing Death almost every day made one wish they had never laughed in its face at all.

Stephen exhaled and cleared his throat. Stark looked up at him.

“I’m not making any promises,” Stephen said. “There’s never any way to definitively tell how an operation will go beforehand. But, if you want me to remove your Arc Reactor, Mr. Stark—then I will try.”

Stark’s dark brown eyes stared at him, clouded with exhaustion a moment, before the haze was cleared with something that looked like hope. A genuine smile broke through his face, and it made Stephen blink. He vaguely noted how much Stark’s face brightened and how much his eyes gleamed when he was genuinely smiling. Stephen cleared his throat again and glanced down at his Arc Reactor, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.

They set a date and arranged payment that afternoon. Since then, Stephen had been coordinating with Stark and Pepper Potts on learning everything there was to know about the Arc Reactor and how it functioned. He spent countless hours studying the complex machinations of Stark’s invention, and more hours still refreshing his memory on the intricacies of the heart. Stark had arranged for his friends to be waiting outside while the operation was being conducted. Stephen had met James Rhodes and Pepper Potts, but only briefly. For weeks, his focus was on Tony Stark and his heart.

Stephen sighed and closed the file. He looked up at the clock again. Stark was already in is hospital room, likely with Rhodes and Potts. The nurse had administered the anesthesia to Stark, and he would be ready to begin in minutes. Stephen held his hands together in his lap, his thumb running along his palm gently. He exhaled and wondered why he was nervous. He had been preparing for weeks. He knew what every last wire in the Arc Reactor did. He knew this would be akin to a heart transplant—a heart transplant with a machine acting as a heart—but a heart transplant nonetheless.

He told himself he was ready. He told himself matters of the heart were nothing compared to matters of the mind. He told himself this would be no problem.

Yet, for some reason, he could not get Stark’s eyes and smile out of his head. Thinking of them made his anxiety worse.

There was a knock on the door. Christine Palmer opened it before he could answer and looked at him. He was already getting to his feet and taking off his white coat before she spoke.

“It’s time,” she said.

“I know.”

They walked down the hospital hallway together, matching in their navy-blue scrubs, falling into a rhythm that was comfortable, familiar, and felt like home. It helped to ease some of Stephen’s nerves. He scolded himself a little for acting so foolish. There was nothing to be worried about. Nothing to be throwing him off so much.

“His friends know this will take some time, yes?” Stephen said.

Christine nodded. “They know. They still want to wait.”

"You sure your pals over in the ER won’t miss you?”

"They’re fine, Stephen.” Christine’s voice was sharp, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were even sharper. “Besides, someone has to show you how to work with a heart.”

Stephen scoffed. “The heart is nothing complicated.”

"And how did I know you would say that?” She turned her gaze ahead again and Stephen furrowed his eyebrows a little.

"What is that supposed to mean?”

She did not answer him.

Potts and Rhodes looked up at the doctors as they walked into Stark’s room. The man of the hour was lying in his hospital bed, brown eyes glazed over and hazy from the sedative. Still, he managed a crooked smile when Stephen and Christine walked in.

“Hey, doc.”

“Mr. Stark,” Stephen said, his eyes falling again on his Arc Reactor. Stark had already discarded his shirt and the scars around the Arc Reactor stood out harshly against his skin, violent lightning-bolts of a time Stephen imagines Stark would want to forget. He looked back at Stark’s brown eyes.

“How do you feel, Mr. Stark?” Christine asked.

To emphasize the effects of the anesthesia, Stark yawned dramatically. Stephen had the sneaking suspicion he would have been much more dramatic if the medicine wasn’t already doing its work on sedating him.

“Great,” Stark said, once he was done yawning. “We ready to do this thing?”

“We are.”

Potts rested her hand over Stark’s, while Rhodes placed his hand on his shoulder. Stark looked up at them and some of the humor left his face, replaced by something more closely resembling gratitude.

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” Potts said, squeezing his hand. Stephen heard that the two of them had broken up, or were on a break, at least. Something about the stress of Stark’s “extracurricular activities” being too much. Stephen wondered if she was the reason Stark wanted the Arc Reactor removed. To try and gain some semblance of normalcy.

“Don’t drive the doctors crazy, alright?” Rhodes said with a small smile.

“Quite frankly, I’m shocked you think I would drive anyone crazy,” Stark said. His words were slurring together, and behind the smile, Stephen could note the traces of anxiety in his brown eyes and how his hands clenched and unclenched the blankets. Potts must have noticed it, too, for she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Stark looked back at Christine and Stephen.

“M’ready, doc,” he said, clearly having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"You gave Ms. Potts all of your belongings you’d like after the procedure, Mr. Stark?” Christine asked. “Your phone, any books, things like that.”

Stark mumbled something sounding like _yes_ , but his eyes were closed. Potts looked at Christine and nodded.

"I have it,” she said, brushing a strand of her sunshine-kissed hair behind her ear. “Doctor, is he—will he—?”

The words she so clearly dreaded saying would not make themselves heard. Stephen looked away from her, focusing instead on Stark, now asleep. Christine smiled gently.

“Mr. Stark is in good hands, Ms. Potts,” Christine said. “We’ll take care of him. I promise you that.”

Pepper Potts looked at Stark again before she nodded a little. Rhodes wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. Stephen, feeling crowded and claustrophobic all of a sudden, looked at Christine.

“Doctor Palmer, let’s get started.”

 

#

 

Stephen was not sure why he was waiting.

He never waited in the past for a patient to wake up. Once an operation was finished and successful, he patted himself on the back, gloated to his co-workers, pestered Christine for a bit, and went home. Once they left his operation table, they became blurry tally-marks on his ever-expanding list of success, forgotten faces and names in the hazy fog of his growing reputation. But, with Stark, he lingered. He waited. He did not know why. He told himself it was because he had never performed such an operation before, and he wanted to see the fallout. It was easy enough to believe.

He saw Stark awake in bed from where he sat pretending to work at the nurse’s station near his room. The blinds to Stark’s room had not been shut, giving Stephen a clear view of Potts and Rhodes sitting next to the bed. They spoke to him, their expressions conveying nothing but relief. They both gestured to the bandages that covered Stark’s chest. Temporary, of course. Stark talked to them, smiling, but looking tired, still.

Stephen looked at the workstation he sat at, his nimble fingers turning around the clear casing in front of him. Inside it was Stark’s Arc Reactor, cleaned off and preserved in a sort of trophy-like casing he provided. Stephen thought the idea was a tad disgusting. It made him think of that _Hannibal_ show Christine had made him sit through, where organs and body parts were put on display for all to see. Though he could understand why Stark wanted it, Stephen was grateful it would not be sitting on his own mantlepiece.

He looked back at Stark’s room and stood. Best to give him the bizarre trophy and get going. He had nothing else to wait for with Stark. Nothing to gain by lingering. Nothing at all.

Their eyes all fell on him as he entered. For one terrifying moment, he thought Rhodes and Potts would try and hug him, but they only smiled and politely thanked him. Stark smiled the biggest smile of the three of them. Stephen had to clear his throat and gather himself before he held out the Arc Reactor casing to him.

“As requested,” he said.

“Thanks, doc,” Stark said. He took the case and turned it over in his hands.

Stephen nodded and paused. They all were looking at him. He frowned a little and glanced around, almost expecting to see Christine waiting to give Stark and his friends the brief overview everyone expected from doctors. But, she wasn’t there. She had been called back to the ER as soon as they finished with Stark. That was a shame. Stephen felt he was better with people when they were unconscious. Especially with Stark. He did something to Stephen when he was around. Something he could not place his finger on. It got worse whenever their gazes met. Perhaps it was those brown eyes and the way they epitomized the oxymoron that was Tony Stark; whole, yet broken; joyful, yet full of sorrow; burning with life, yet more exhausted than death.

He only knew that the sooner it was over, the better.

"How do you feel?” he asked.

“Groggy, but alright,” Stark said.

“Good. We’ll keep an eye on you for a couple of days to make sure your body will adjust to the changes.”

No one asked what would happen if his body did not adjust well to the changes. Stephen was grateful for that.

“Your nurse should be in soon to check on you,” Stephen said, not knowing at all who his nurse even was or when they would be in to check on Stark. Still, it seemed like an okay thing to say. And it provided his escape.

But, as he was closing his hand on the doorknob, Stark spoke again.

“Thank you,” he said. Stephen looked at him. His icy blue eyes met Stark’s warm brown ones, seeing them brightened and lit up by his small smile. Stephen thought his smile looked almost, sad. Tired.

Better not to dwell and wait.

Stephen nodded once and left Stark’s hospital room. He let the door close behind him and walked down the hallway toward his office. Once there, he felt some knot that had been tightening in his chest relax and release. He rested his hand over his chest and breathed deep. On his desk was Tony Stark’s file. He looked at it a moment before he shoved it into the wastebasket.

Within the hour, Stephen had his coat on and was heading to the parking garage. He avoided Stark’s room as he was heading out, hardly aware he was doing it. The detour he had to take took him right next to the ER, and he saw Christine talking to another doctor. He winced and turned away. But, it was too late. She glanced at him and spoke briefly to the doctor before going to him.

“Are you sick?” she asked, smiling.

“What?”

“You didn’t come by and patronize Nick about Tony Stark’s surgery,” she said, crossing her arms. “We all figured you would, since he kept saying you’d mess up.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Stephen said. He rubbed his fingers against his temple, the early poundings of a headache drumming behind his eyes. “I’ll mock him tomorrow. Promise.”

Christine’s smile faltered a little and her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, Christine.”

“You were really stressed about this, weren’t you?” Her tone softened in the same way it did when she spoke to the dying or paralyzed drunk idiots that stumbled through her ER. It made Stephen’s head ache harder.

“No. I wasn’t,” he said shortly. “Am I allowed to go home now?”

 Christine’s jaw set and her eyes hardened.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” she said. The soft pity was out of her voice now. Stephen felt bitter satisfaction at that.

“Thank you,” he said. He walked away from her, feeling her eyes on his back before he left the building. The further he walked away, however, the more he felt the satisfaction burning away and the more he felt the bitterness settling in. He rubbed his hand over his face. The headache pounded harder, with each footstep. Stephen ran his hand through his hair, some strands tumbling onto his forehead as he got in his car. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He must have been a little stressed about the procedure, but that was all. That had to be all it was. It was all that made a modicum of sense.  

Stephen drove home. He did his best not to think of Stark’s tired, brown eyes and his smile that could not shake that battle-worn look from his face. He told himself he would never see Tony Stark again.

The thought made the knot in his chest loosen.

But, it also made it ache.

 

#

 

Stephen felt with absolute certainty that he was not ready.

He had not thought of Tony Stark for years. His faltering relationship with Christine, the accident, his time at Kamar-Taj, learning from the Ancient One, bargaining with Dormammu, all of it had been sufficient enough to keep him from thinking of the billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Even Stark’s dark brown eyes had faded from memory, lost in the torrent of rain, the screeching of car tires, the feeling of being weightless, of flying, before crashing down to earth in a mess of twisted metal and broken bone. Five years had passed. Stephen had moved on from the procedure that took so long to shake. He had accepted his role as Master of the New York Sanctum. He had a friend in Wong, and a shaky acquaintanceship with Christine. His hands still shook and screamed their pale scars, but he had come to terms with that too. Everything was alright. Everything was accounted for and as it should be.

It must have been some sick joke from the universe, that as Stephen had gotten comfortable, one of the greatest threats in the universe was hurtling himself toward the people of Earth. As if that wasn’t enough, the first person he had to go to for help was the last person he ever expected to see. The last person he felt ready to talk to.

Tony Stark was surprised to see Stephen. That much was obvious. Though, Stephen could not tell if it was because they had not seen each other in years, or if it was because of the portal he conjured up in the middle of Central Park as Stark was walking with Pepper Potts. Truth be told, Stephen barely noticed Potts. Stark had some kind of Arc Reactor on his chest again, but it did not seem imbedded in his skin. He looked as though he had aged ten years in the span of five. It was unsurprising. The Ultron incident, the Sokovia Accords, all of it had clearly been chipping away at Tony Stark.

Despite all he had endured, he did not shy away from what Bruce Banner told him about the being named Thanos. They—Wong, Stephen, Stark, and Banner—all stood in the foyer of the New York Sanctum. Stephen watched Stark’s face as Wong and Banner walked him through the threat Thanos posed to life in the universe. His expression was difficult to read. His eyes were dark, but razor sharp as he listened to them. He acted as a glaring contrast to Bruce Banner. Where Banner was all anxiety, fear, and barely able to stand still for longer than ten seconds, Stark was quiet, still, and stoic. Stephen was not sure what reaction to expect from the man, but he was grateful to not have to deal with two ex-Avengers acting as an anxious bundle of nerves.

All was quiet, for the moment.

Wong went to work on casting protective charms and spells over the sanctum. Banner and Stark spoke at the foot of the staircase. Stephen moved to his friend to help him cast spells and caught bits and pieces of their conversation. He caught a name. Steve Rogers. His eyes fell on Stark, who seemed more agitated at the mention of Captain America than he did during all the doom-and-destruction talk about Thanos. Banner tried to insist that Stark call Rogers, but he was unmoving. This went on for a few minutes. Eventually, Banner caved and took a flip-phone from Stark, muttering irritably to himself as he moved into the room next to the foyer, presumably to call Steve Rogers.

Stephen turned his attention back to his work. He was able to focus in peace for less than a minute before he heard footsteps behind him. He held his breath and stared ahead for as long as he could manage.

“Looks like a lot has changed for you, doc.”

And, there it was.

Stephen turned to Stark, who was looking up at him and smiling a little.

“Yes. And it looks like you made all my hard work null and void.”

“What?”

He pointed to the Arc Reactor on his jacket. Stark looked down at it.

“Oh. No, doc, not quite.” He patted his hand over the face of the Reactor. “This is just so I’m ready. For whatever happens.”

“Ready for Thanos, even? How perceptive of you.”

The smile from Stark’s face fell.

“Yeah, actually.”

Stephen scoffed and turned his attention back to his spells. Wong moved away from the two of them, looking quite interested in the grooves in the wooden floors. Though his back was to him, Stephen could practically feel Stark’s irritation radiating off of him.

“You don’t seem very ready for Thanos,” he said shortly. “If you were, doesn’t seem like an Infinity Stone would be hanging off your neck like the latest accessory in spring jewelry.”

“The Stone stays with me,” Stephen said without turning around.

“Hey, if you want to paint a giant target on your back that says: _please, come kick my ass, Thanos_ , that’s your prerogative. But when he does kick your ass, what makes you think he won’t come grab the Stone right from your neck?”

The runes disappeared from Stephen’s hands and forearms as he turned to face Stark. Though he was a few inches shorter, Stark did a fine job of managing to glower down at Stephen. Through his anger, though, Stephen saw a glimpse of fear. The sight of it made his own irritation wither. And he felt a cold twist go through his own chest.

“He will have to kill me first,” Stephen said. Stark frowned a little at his quiet, calm tone. “And then he will have to find a way to break the Dead Man’s Charm I have placed on the amulet. Believe me, Stark, it will take him a great deal of effort to achieve even one of those tasks.”

“But, he could do it,” Stark said.

“Yes,” he said. “He could.” There was no point in denying that.

Tony Stark exhaled and looked away. Stephen watched him as he wandered over to the staircase and sat down on one of the steps. Glancing at Wong momentarily, Stephen followed him and stood a few steps away from him.

“Stark, we are taking every precaution—”

“Tony.”

“What?”

“People called my dad Mr. Stark, okay? Call me Tony.”

Stephen frowned a little. “Tony. We are taking every precaution to protect this place and the Infinity Stone from Thanos or any—”

“You still working at the hospital?”

Irritation spiked. “What?”

“I bet the magic is helpful in surgeries. Could also cheer up the kids, too.”

“I don’t do party tricks.”

Tony shrugged and looked up at him. Stephen did not want to answer, but those brown eyes brought that odd feeling back that he had almost forgotten.

“No,” Stephen said. “I don’t still work at the hospital.”

“Busy with the wizard stuff?”

“Ineloquently put, but yes.” And not entirely accurate, but that was fine with Stephen.

Tony nodded and looked away. Stephen opened his mouth, intending to discuss what they could do against the threat Thanos posed, but stopped. With Tony silent, he noticed the way his hands fidgeted, the way he was unable to look at something for longer than a few seconds, the way he was rocking ever-so-slightly on the step. Banner may have been the one anxious a few minutes ago, but now, the torch had been passed on to Tony. Or, perhaps Tony held it all along. Perhaps he was better at shoving it aside and bottling it up.

Stephen exhaled and looked up at the large circular window above them. Morning sunlight lazily drifted down to them. The lift and bustle of New York hummed and rattled through the doors. No one in the city knew how close to extinction they all were. It was a normal day for them. They would have normal activities, go to their normal jobs, and have normal conversations. Stephen looked back at Tony. The threat was pressing and breathing down on all of their necks, but, perhaps he could give Tony a normal conversation. Anything to break that worried haze in his eyes. Even for just a moment. Before the quiet was broken for good.

“I heard you were working with New York’s superhero,” Stephen said. “Spider-Man, right?” Maybe it wasn’t totally normal conversation. But, normal enough for people like them.

Tony looked up at him. “Yeah.”

“I haven’t met him. But, he seems to be a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Tony said again. He ran his hand through his short, brown hair. When he looked back at Stephen, there was a small smile on his face. It chased away the anxiety. “He’s a good kid. Not so good at the listening, but, brave. And smart.”

Stephen felt a warmth growing in his heart at seeing Tony’s smile. It felt nice. It distracted him for a moment about what was waiting for them just around the corner. He appreciated that.

“Well, perhaps one day I’ll be able to meet him.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony said. His smile widened a bit. “Once he hears about a wizard in New York he’ll—”

But, Stephen never got to find out what Spider-Man would do once he heard about a wizard in New York. The noise outside had changed. Tony’s voice trailed off and he looked toward the door. Stephen frowned and followed his gaze. Wong was staring at the door, too, and Banner had returned from the phone call he was making. In the new silence, the change outside was clear. The trademark bustle and noise of an average day in New York City was gone. In its place were muffled screams, shouting, tires screeching, horns roaring, wind whipping, sirens blaring. Through the fogged windows, Stephen could make out silhouettes of people running and scrambling.

Tony rose to his feet and was the first to the door. When he opened it, the sounds of panic and chaos came crashing into the foyer at full force. Stephen saw Tony’s hand clench the door tighter. He left without looking to see if anyone would follow.

Stephen set his jaw and looked at Wong before he went outside. Banner came in tow. Refocusing himself, Stephen conjured runes on his forearms, magic humming at his fingertips, ready for whatever was around the corner.

The silence was broken. The distractions done with.

Stephen wondered if they would ever return.

 

#

 

Stephen slowly came to and thought, _He really does look like Squidward._

Then the pain came back to him. His head ached. His throat felt mangled and raw. That was easily forgettable though; every nerve in his face felt as though it had been set on fire and stabbed with knives. The pain made his thoughts sluggish and difficult to pin down. He knew he had fought on Earth with Tony. He knew he had been knocked unconscious. He knew he was suspended in mid-air. He knew he was facing an alien that very much wanted to kill him and tear the Infinity Stone off of his corpse.

He knew he was in trouble. That much was incredibly easy to understand.

“Ah. Good. You’re awake.”

Stephen winced a little and looked at the flat face of his captor. He thought he heard his alien companion call him Maw, though he could not get Tony’s quip about Squidward out of his head. It was less funny here—wherever here was. It was dark, and he could hear machinery working away around them. They were on the ship they saw floating above the city, in all likelihood. Stephen tried not to think about where it was going.

Maw smiled, holding his hands behind his back. “I did not want to continue our fun until you woke up again. You really should try harder to stay awake, however. My patience is finite.”

The rest came flooding back to Stephen, making him wince again. The crystalline needles poked into his peripheral vision again and he felt his stomach drop and his heart race. The ache of his throat was easier to understand. He could remember screaming, his screaming. Pain so intense and excruciating, it made thinking impossible. He thought he had experienced the worst pain when his hands were mangled in the car accident, when he bargained with Dormammu hundreds of times—but he wanted to laugh at his own naiveté. There was always worse pain to be felt.

“Shall we get started again?” Maw said. “Or have you come to your senses?” The needles inched closer to Stephen’s face, glinting and winking at him, as if eager and excited to set his nerves ablaze and hear his pained screams again.

A cold knot formed tightly in his chest. It made breathing difficult. Still, Stephen glared at Maw, his pale-blue eyes icy and furious. The Eye of Agamotto felt warm against his chest, fighting against the knot of fear and pain that had formed. He had no idea how long it would take before the knot strangled him. But he knew he would try to endure whatever was thrown at him to keep that from happening.

“Do your worst.” His voice was raspy, but there was an unmistakable bite and iron to it. Maw’s smile fell, and his mouth twisted into a scowl. Stephen felt a surge of bitter satisfaction. It was burned away almost instantly, as a needle dug itself into his cheekbone. The fire erupted behind his skin again and he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out. Another needle came closer and clawed into his jaw. His vision faded and blurred. He thought he heard Maw talking, thought he saw a flash of red (his cloak?) and gold. The pain must be getting to him more than he initially thought. He must be seeing things.

There was a blinding flash of light and the pain was ripped away, suddenly and without warning. Stephen thought he cried out, but he was not sure. An impossibly strong force grabbed him and the needles and pulled him to the side of the room in a split second. Mind reeling, he thought they had crash-landed, or that Thanos had gotten impatient and was going to snap his neck himself. He barely had time to wonder these thoughts, before was grabbed again just as he was almost sucked out of the hole that had suddenly formed in the side of the ship. Stephen looked behind him and saw a red and blue spider holding onto him, saving him from the vacuum of space. If he had the air in his lungs, he may have laughed at how insane this whole thing had become.

The hole was closed, and Stephen dropped to the floor with the spider, trying to catch his breath. Weight fell on his shoulders. When he looked, he smiled a little at seeing his cloak, somehow finding him in space and helping to protect him. Again. He rested his hand on the cloak before he looked up to see what spider creation saved him.

Stephen frowned. With his mind free from the cloud of pain and fear and surprise, it was obvious that what he thought was a spider was actually a teenager, in a high-tech suit, designed to invoke the image of a spider. The boy was getting to his feet, catching his breath.

“That was insane, Mr. Stark!” he said. Stephen could hear his smile through the boy’s mask.  

He looked up just in time to see Tony land next to them. His helmet retracted from his head. He looked somewhere between relieved and furious, brown eyes burning and bright.

Some part of Stephen thought he had never seen Tony look so beautiful.

He shook his head, hard.

“God, I hope that guy didn’t leave any eggs lying around—”

“Kid, just—shush,” Tony said. His eyes didn’t leave Stephen’s face as he extended his hand to him. Stephen looked at it a moment, debated, then took it. “You alright?”

“Yes,” he lied, getting to his feet. He wondered how long he was on this ship, before deciding he did not really want to know. “Maw?”

“I assume you mean Squidward. He’s enjoying the scenery space has to offer.” Tony’s voice had a tight quality to it. When Stephen looked at him, he saw the same traces of anxiety in his eyes that he noticed back in the Sanctum. He wanted to squeeze his hand, hold onto it for a moment longer—but he let go. He could not tell if Tony was disappointed or not.

“Thank you,” Stephen said.

Tony nodded. He thought he looked a little less angry, maybe a little more relieved.

“Mr. Stark,” the boy said. “Is this the wizard?”

Tony rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah. This is the wizard, kid.”

Stephen looked at him just as the boy’s own helmet was retracing from his head. He had brown eyes, too, young and energetic eyes that complimented his large smile.

“Hello, sir,” he said, holding his hand out to Stephen. “Peter Parker.”

He shook his hand. “Doctor Strange.”

Peter faltered and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are we using our fake names? Sorry—then, I am Spider-Man.”

Stephen stared at him.

“No, kid,” Tony said, clearly having a hard time keeping a straight face. “That’s his name.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“A real doctor?”

“Yep.”

“Not like, Doctor Doom?”

“No,” Stephen said flatly. “Not like Doctor Doom. My name is Stephen Strange.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, doctor. Still getting used to the whole superhero thing—”

“That’s alright,” he said, deciding he liked Peter Parker. He caught Tony smiling a little out of his peripheral vision.

Peter and Tony debated for a few minutes if they would be able to turn the ship around themselves when Stephen produced his Sling Ring from his belt. Tony looked at it doubtfully, while Peter was all but buzzing with excitement at seeing real magic for the first time. Stephen slipped the Sling Ring onto his hand and he caught the sound of Tony’s breath hitching. He looked at him and his stomach sank. Tony was looking at Stephen’s hand, his eyes tracing over the scars on his fingers. Stephen wanted to shove his hands behind his back, but he stayed still, watching Tony, bracing himself. He only hoped that whatever Tony offered, it wasn’t pity. Disgust would be better. Revulsion. Anything other than pity.

Tony looked Stephen in the eye.

“You sure you’re feeling up to it, doc?” he asked. “You just took a hell of a beating.”

Tension bled out from Stephen’s shoulders.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Tony nodded and said nothing more.

Stephen looked ahead again and held his hands up, making note of the tremor of his hands and exhaling as he focused beyond it. His body and mind still ached, but it was easier to ignore with Peter and Tony with him. It took a moment longer than usual, but a portal sparked to life in front of them. The cool air of the New York Sanctum breezed into the room, breaking up the stale, tense air of the ship that was heavy with screams and pain. He closed his eyes and breathed in, comforted by the cool air, the real air, from his home.

“After you,” he said.

Tony was shushing Peter as he walked through the portal with him, patting his shoulder and whispering something that sounded suspiciously like _don’t embarrass me in front of the wizard, kid_ , as Peter was trying to talk about the quantum physics needed to create a portal that could bring them back to Earth. Stephen felt a smile touch his face. He looked beyond the portal at the shifting sky-blue window at the head of the room. Beyond that window, he knew, he felt, was Thanos, waiting for them on whatever planet he made his home. The smile fell from Stephen’s face.

His hand closed over the Eye of Agamotto. It still felt warm and alive under his palm, powerful and fragile, all at once. Another oxymoron, though the Time Stone paled in comparison to the contradiction of Tony Stark. The more time Stephen spent with him, the more he conflicted with the stories he had heard of the supposedly arrogant billionaire. An arrogant man would not have risked himself for a stranger. Perhaps that meant he was more than a stranger to Tony Stark.

He shook his head. It was something he could not afford to think about at the moment. He looked through the portal at Peter and Tony and the knot returned in his chest. Stephen held the Eye tighter and walked through the portal, back into the comfort of the sanctum he made his home. The portal fizzed out into nothing behind him, leaving behind silence and emptiness.

 

#

The three of them stayed in the New York Sanctum that night. There was a spatter of panic between Peter and Tony about what to tell Peter’s aunt, but they must have figured it out, for when Stephen returned from checking on Wong, Peter was exploring the magical artifacts on the second floor and Tony was sitting alone by the doors. Stephen watched him a moment, debated, shook his head, and left the man alone with his thoughts. They would have time to talk later. He didn’t want to seem—

_Clingy._

 —anxious or pushy. He was able to shove down the shock of what he endured on the ship, but it was beginning to resurface, in unwelcome spasms of pain that went across his face and hands. He knew it was psychosomatic. Knowing did not make it any better. Tony had not shown any pity or surprise at seeing Stephen’s hands on the ship, but that did not mean Stephen wanted anyone to see how horribly they shook now. Clenching his fists barely helped. Thinking did not help. For his thoughts continued to wander toward Thanos, or to Tony. His thoughts on Thanos were full of death, fear, and dread; whereas Tony’s were full of confusion, anxiety and comfort. Both were overwhelming. Both made his hands shake harder.

Stephen expected another attack from Thanos before the day was over. But, night fell without incident. He supposed he was gathering his remaining forces, coming up with a new plan, and preparing for whatever steps they would take next. He hoped the Mind Stone was in a safe place. He knew better than to hope too much. As moonlight drifted into the sanctum, silence fell over its inhabitants like a suffocating blanket. Stephen knew they needed to talk, but including a child felt wrong, so he did not break the silence. Peter retired to bed not long after nightfall. Stephen heard him asking Tony if he could stay in a room close to him, a request Tony seemed happy to fulfill. They both ended up on the first floor. Stephen stood in front of the circular window on the second floor. Alone, the silence did not seem so stifling. Rather, it was welcoming. It almost calmed his hands.  

Snow was falling to the ground with the moonlight when the silence was broken.

“I gotta ask, is it the cape or the cheekbones that help the most?”

Stephen frowned and turned around.

“Help with what?”

“The brooding,” Tony said as he ascended the stairs.

“I am not brooding.”

Tony scoffed.

“I’m thinking,” Stephen said.

“Whatever you want to call it, doc.”

 Silence fell over the two of them with the snowfall. Tony stood at Stephen’s side, his hands in his pockets. He looked up at Stephen and squinted. Color crept under Stephen’s collar and he forced himself to keep his gaze ahead.

“What are you staring at?”

“I think it’s the cape,” Tony decided.

"Great.”

“But, the cheekbones are mysterious. Alluring, even.”

Heat pooled in Stephen’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and said flatly, “It’s not a cape.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“It’s a cloak.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s like calling your Arc Reactor and your heart the same—” Stephen stopped. He looked at Tony, expecting him to be offended, but he was looking at the snow again.

“Can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” Tony said.

“I suppose not.”

 “How come?”

Stephen shrugged and looked outside again. “Removing your Arc Reactor was a surgical breakthrough. Any surgeon would remember a procedure like that.”

“You sure that’s all, doc?” Tony was looking at him again, with those paradoxical eyes of his. He had a cut near his mouth, from his fight earlier, and Stephen had to focus hard to look him in the eyes and not at his lips.

“I’m sure,” Stephen said through his dry mouth.

Tony looked at him another few seconds before looking back out the window.

Silence passed.

“Tony.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, again.”

Tony shrugged and looked at his feet. “Saving you was more of a professional courtesy.”

Stephen smiled a little. He could not help it. “All the same.”

“Besides, you shouldn’t be thanking me.”

“Why?”

“The fight is nowhere near over, doc. You know that. It’s why I’m here in this magic museum instead of in my own bed, dreaming my own nice, little dreams.”

“The fight isn’t over, yes,” Stephen said. “But, we’ll be ready for when it comes back.”

“How?” Tony snapped.

Stephen blinked and looked at him. Tony’s eyes were furious and frightened all at once, his cool composure lost without warning, fading and forgotten in the cold wind blowing outside.

“See, I have a problem with that, doctor. Because I thought I was ready. I thought I’ve been getting ready for the last six years, but it turns out, I haven’t actually been doing anything useful.”

“That’s not true—”

Tony continued as though Stephen had not spoken.

“Because we haven’t even fought the big bad threat yet, and all three of us got our asses handed to us by his little henchmen,” Tony said. His voice did not rise, but it somehow became more panicked and angry as he went on. “Now I wasn’t counting on a wizard when I was doing all my planning, all my preparation, but I was counting on me. Me. I was counting on me to do whatever I could to stop the same shit that always happens whenever one of us steps outside. But, I didn’t do shit. All my planning and all my gadgets and toys and neat ideas and I still watched you and the kid being dragged up onto that fucking spaceship and I couldn’t do a goddamn thing!”

Stephen took Tony’s shoulder. He felt how tense his muscles were under his palm, saw how Tony’s eyes were watery and helpless and angry, heard the way his voice shook. He looked at Tony Stark, and his heart ached. He looked at Tony Stark, and he saw a man who refused to admit he was breaking, who blamed himself for the cracks in his soul, who fought with grit teeth and bloodied knuckles to keep others from shattering, heedless of the way he was cracking and splintering himself apart. He looked at Tony Stark, and he saw the bravest man he has ever seen. He looked at Tony Stark, and he saw the saddest man he has ever known.

“Tony,” he said, his voice as soft as the snowflakes that fell in the dark night. “None of that is true.”

Tony shook his head and looked out the window. Stephen held his shoulder tighter and had to keep himself from touching his cheek and turning him back to look at him. God, he wanted to, though.

“If it wasn’t for you and your bravery, I would be dead, and Thanos would be one Infinity Stone closer to his goal,” Stephen said.

“It was the kid’s idea,” Tony said.

“And where do you think Peter got the courage to follow me onto the ship?”

He said nothing.

“Maybe you cannot prepare for everything. But, that does not make you lesser than, Tony. It makes you human. It does not mean you failed anyone. If anyone failed, it was me. I was the one who was captured. I did not know about Thanos’ threat until your friend told me. But, you, Tony, you knew for years that this was coming. The rest of us are fools for not listening to you.”

Tony looked back at Stephen. He squeezed his shoulder.

“We will be ready, for we have you, Tony Stark.”

The pain in Tony’s eyes lessened and his muscles relaxed some. Stephen went to move his hand off of his shoulder, but Tony caught his wrist. His grip was gentle, but firm. Stephen tensed, but Tony’s soft, warm touch kept him from yanking his hand back. Those brown eyes traced over his scars again and he tried to stop his hand from shaking, but, of course, it did not work. Tony ran his other hand over Stephen’s gently, his fingertips brushing the tremors, as though trying to calm them.

“Car accident, right?” Tony said.

Stephen nodded. His voice seemed caught in his throat. His heart was racing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Stephen managed, almost whispering. Tony looked up at him. He still held Stephen’s hand in his own.

Tony smiled, broken but gleaming with light. It made Stephen’s knees weak.

“I’m glad I chose you, doc.”

“Oh?”

“For the surgery.”

Stephen’s heart sank. “Oh. Of course.”

Tony let go of Stephen’s hand. He held it against his chest and was about to excuse himself when Tony’s hand was suddenly on his cheek and his lips against his.

Stephen blinked, tensed, relaxed, melted. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the warmth of Tony’s lips and touch. His own hands found Tony’s waist and pulled him closer. He moved with Stephen’s touch, seeming to almost stand on his tip-toes. Stephen smiled into the kiss. Panic and confusion tried to worm into his head. It was chased away by beautiful, brown eyes, and strong, calloused hands that held so much love and sorrow at their fingertips. It bled into Stephen’s cheek and lips. He thought he may die of thirst without it.

All too soon, Tony pulled back. His breath was coming in short, like Stephen’s, and his cheeks were bright with color. He smiled, and Stephen’s heart melted again. He felt like a foolish schoolboy. He felt better than he had in years.

“What was that for?” Stephen managed.

“We may die soon, doc,” Tony said, reaching up and brushing back a strand of Stephen’s hair. “Not much time for pinning. Though that is always notoriously fun for both parties.”

Stephen smiled. He could not remember the last time he smiled and meant it.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Tony lowered his hand and looked outside. The snow was falling heavily, blanketing New York and silencing the usual bustle and noise of the city. As far as Stephen was concerned, they were the only two people in the city. The only two people in the world.

“My room,” Tony said, looking back at Stephen. “Ten minutes?”

Stephen’s heart raced faster. “Sounds—punctual.”

Tony laughed. With that laugh, full of life and joy and warmth, Stephen knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble, that he probably would never climb out of. He did not mind. It was trouble that was welcome.

“Punctual?”

Stephen shrugged, heat rushing to his cheeks again. It was all he could think of.

“Alright, doc. Better stay punctual then,” Tony said, still smiling.

He pulled away then and descended the stairs. Stephen was left staring after him, pain totally forgotten from his body, replaced entirely by a feeling he had never known before. A feeling he thought was reserved for cheesy songs, stories, and movies; overplayed, overdramatic, and overused. He brought his fingers to his lips and smiled a little, realizing what an idiot he had been. Usually that bothered him. It didn’t this time.

Stephen followed Tony down the stairs. The snow continued to fall throughout the night, but inside, Stephen Strange and Tony Stark spent the night in each other’s arm, protecting each other from the cold, bleak night, reminding each other that whatever was to come, they would face it, together. Stephen knew he would be ready. With Tony by his side, he would be ready for anything.

 

END


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